


lunchroom ambush

by rjosettes



Series: Tumblr Fics [16]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, F/M, First Dates, Multi, Nerd Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Opposites Attract, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjosettes/pseuds/rjosettes
Summary: When the doors bang open, Scott doesn’t even look up. He can tell from how long they stay open and the new buzz of energy in the room that all the sports players with midday practice are filing back in after their showers. Once upon a time, Scott had wanted to play lacrosse. But, of course, lacrosse is a spring semester sport with a lot of running – half the season in the cold and half in pollen is not exactly ideal in his situation. There are golfers and tennis players and track kids this time of year, too, and none of them have exactly shown interest in hanging out with the guy who still reads stuff like Things Fall Apart for free choice book reports instead of Twilight. Even Stiles thinks he’s a nerd. Which is fine. It works for them.





	lunchroom ambush

**Author's Note:**

> Another archived fic from my old tumblr! Feel free to let me know of any mistakes I've copy/pasted.

The outdoors look so nice through the cafeteria windows, Scott thinks. He wishes he were eating his lunch and reading out there somewhere, on a bench or under a tree, maybe just sprawled out in the grass. He sighs and turns another page in Les Miserables before he redirects his attention back to his sandwich. Books – as long as they aren’t dusty – and salisbury steak won’t trigger his asthma like the hellscape of chilly weather outside.

The doorstop of a novel in front of him won’t give him an attack, but he’s pretty sure it might be giving him an ulcer. Allison is having a good time in France, apparently, but she also wants him to experience all sort of French things with her, and this enormous, dramatic, dreary book is one of them. This is his second time trying to trudge through it, actually; he’s always been fond of the ‘classics’ and the spring of freshman year had been a pollen wasteland just begging him to come outside and waste precious puffs from his inhaler. Eventually, though, he’d tossed it aside to reread White Fang again. This second trudge through isn’t quite as bad, now that he’s older, but he still feels like he could probably kill someone with the book itself, even though it’s a paperback.

Scott’s alone at his end of the table on Stiles’s days with Ms. Morrell. Vernon Boyd sits at the other end, eating slowly but steadily and occasionally scanning the room like he’s looking for someone, but other than that, it’s deserted in this part of the cafeteria. Stiles is probably wolfing down a sandwich and talking at the same time in the guidance office, and both of them are still getting used to going to school without Harley around. Not that her graduating a semester early was a bad thing, like, at all, but the drop from three to two is a bigger hit to their group than if Lydia Martin suddenly had seven people at her table instead of eight. Which is, y'know, exactly what happened already, and they’re adjusting just fine.

When the doors bang open, Scott doesn’t even look up. He can tell from how long they stay open and the new buzz of energy in the room that all the sports players with midday practice are filing back in after their showers. Once upon a time, Scott had wanted to play lacrosse. But, of course, lacrosse is a spring semester sport with a lot of running – half the season in the cold and half in pollen is not exactly ideal in his situation. There are golfers and tennis players and track kids this time of year, too, and none of them have exactly shown interest in hanging out with the guy who still reads stuff like Things Fall Apart for free choice book reports instead of Twilight. Even Stiles thinks he’s a nerd. Which is fine. It works for them.

Boyd looks up pretty sharply and Scott smiles to himself because, well, he’s gotten to know what that means. He’s usually more subtle than that, but Scott’s been sitting at this table with him for almost four entire years and Boyd has had a crush on Erica Reyes for all four of them. If they don’t end up at prom together, it’ll be a tragedy. He’s not sure if they’d actually dance or maybe just sit at a table together and drink punch, but it would be the most satisfying end to Scott’s senior year he could imagine. Barring Allison showing up for graduation, preferably without her somewhat creepy aunt.

The familiar clack of a plastic lunch tray comes from way nearer than he’s used to, making him jump and spill his milk into the fruit cup full of plain lettuce and tomato this school district calls salad. “Crap,” he mutters to himself, wadding up a few brown paper napkins and soaking up the splatter on the tabletop.

“I am so sorry!” an unfamiliar voice says, and Scott blinks hard and fast because there’s a girl at his table. Not a girl like Allison, who sometimes visited around halfway through the period when Lydia had finished holding court, or like Harley, who’d belonged with them there – critical of the whole concept of popularity and left outside of it as a result. This girl is smiling apologetically, two pigtails dripping wet patches onto the shoulders of her long-sleeved shirt, and is carrying a crosse. “You can have mine if you want. I never eat that anyway, I drink most of my vegetables so I can just chug them.”

“Uh, no,” Scott says quickly, still catching stray trickles before they can drip onto his jeans. “No, that’s okay. I wasn’t going to eat it either.” He tries to keep his eyes on his task, but there’s only so much milk to mop out without dumping out more. “Are you friends with-” A glance confirms that Boyd has actually entirely vacated the table. Great. Breathe, Scott. “Um.”

“With Boyd?” the girl asks brightly, her grin much wider and shoulders more relaxed, beads of water dropping onto her collarbone now, too. Scott tries not to follow them down with his eyes. “No, I think he only hangs out with the other JROTC guys. I have English with him, though. Fifth period with Ms. Blake.”

Scott nods politely. There are only two sections for senior English as far as he knows, and Boyd isn’t in his class, so that makes sense. “I have English second period, after-”

“AP Bio.” She takes a big scoop of her mashed potatoes – no gravy, he notices – and looks at him expectantly while she finishes it. “Right? I sit a few rows back. You’re up front with Lydia. You hardly get called on anymore because you always do the reading.”

Okay. So she knows him. Things start to fall back into place again. It had been really weird for a second there, but he gets it now. “My hours in the library are three to five, since I have work most days, and I can do free period if we have the same one.”

“I have a B+ right now, actually,” she says, eyes bashfully cast down for a moment. “Some of us made a study group and it’s helping a lot! Even if I have to expose my friends to my parents way more than anyone should. You could come if you want, actually, it’s for everyone.”

Scott watches her trace little furrows into her potatoes with her spork while that’s sinking in – K – I – R – A. Kira. Right. He should have remembered that. “That sounds really awesome, Kira. I kind of work most days, though? Money for college, and stuff.” Her smile retreats, shrinking down until her mouth is almost a straight line, pressed together in disappointment. “Maybe on a day off? I do get some. Dr. Deaton says I’m too young to be working all of the time.”

“It would be a lot of fun, Scott.” He startles a little – not so much as to spill things again, but enough. “Swapping tips with everyone really helps, especially since we’re all such different learners. My dad helps sometimes, too, when he’s not trying to feed us.”

He’s about to ask how her dad – their history teacher, if he’s got everything straight in his head – is much help with advanced placement science when Kira looks away, smiling and waving towards the doors. Wracking his brain turns out to be useless; he has no idea who Kira hangs out with. Not the guys on her lacrosse team, as far as he knows, since she never sat with Jackson and Danny.

When he peeks, it’s a little like being slapped in that face. Malia Tate is a name that doesn’t slip his mind often, thanks to Stiles’s brief, off the deep end bout of 'to hell with Lydia’ fever. She’s still in the little maroon shorts and white tank most of the track stars wear for practice, her hair one long braid frizzy with flyaways instead of slick and neat like Kira’s. The table wobbles a bit when she flops her full weight onto the bench and rubs her damp forehead all over Kira’s already wet shoulder.

“I thought you were going to wait for me,” she mutters just loud enough for Scott to hear, and Kira’s shrug dislodges her from her resting place.

“I didn’t want to wait too long, it was either now or wait til next week. We’re running out of time a little bit.” Kira tucks a few of the dirty blonde strands of hair stuck to Malia’s face back behind her ear, her touch soft and lingering, and oh. Kira does not just hang out with Malia. “But he said yes! Sort of. I maybe accidentally invited him to study group for AP Bio.”

“The class I don’t take,” Malia says flatly, shooting a look at Scott as if she expects him to mirror her disbelief. “Good going, Yukimura. Now he has no idea it’s a date.”

“Well, we’re doing better than with Violet?” Kira asks hopefully, as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Scott’s not sure if he swallowed too much food at once or if he has a lump in his throat the size of a jawbreaker. “Forget study group,” she says, turning to him, reaching her hand out to touch his and putting her arm directly into the soggy paper napkins in the process. She flushes but doesn’t pull back, and Scott laughs. It’s something Stiles would do, sticking with his screw-up just to keep a little of his dignity. “You should come out and eat with us. Or there’s a party after the lacrosse game, we could-”

“What kind of food do you like?” he slips in quickly. Lacrosse parties are always at Lydia or Jackson’s house now that Allison isn’t around anymore, and he’s not sure he’s ready for that. Or that he ever will be. Not that he’s ready for a date with two girls. He’s not even entirely sure what’s happening right now, but if Kira can endure the milk soaking into her sleeve right now, he can roll with this.

“Pizza,” they answer in unison, Kira giggling at Malia’s fervency.

“Is that a yes?” Malia checks, glancing between him and Kira. “Because that was way easier than I expected to be.”

Stiles’s overloaded booksack shakes the table hard when he slams it down, and even Kira jumps this time. “Scott, buddy, you’re killing me. Are you interviewing replacements? Are you in the market for a jock since your archer left? There are girls at our table for the first time since Harley left and I miss it?”

“We’re here because you weren’t,” Malia tells him without missing a beat. Stiles gapes at her – either he’s offended or he can’t believe she’s actually talking to him, or both – and Scott can only imagine the series of scoffs at different volumes and pitches that he’ll get started on if he’s not cut off quick.

Scott’s gently sneaks his hand out from underneath Kira’s, using it to slip his skateboard bookmark into place and close Les Mis. “Just bio stuff,” he says, a little uncomfortable. He tries to focus on the fact that he can tell Stiles everything when it won’t make the girls feel awkward. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” he asks, directing it at Kira, who he knows he shares a class with first.

“You’re sure you won’t forget?” she asks, playing with the edges of her tray as Malia swings her long legs back over the bench to get up.

“Not when there’s pizza involved,” he jokes, biting down on a smile when they both grin. “I’ll see Malia at free period anyway, right? Lydia tutors you in math?”

She groans long and low. “Don’t remind me. I can figure out how much to tip at dinner, I think I’m good on life skills from math. We can swap numbers there, though.”

They hurry off together, Malia leaning down the four of five inches between their heights as they go. Stiles’s gaze is glued to Malia’s thighs until they’re out of sight and then he rounds on Scott. “Uh, I thought you said tutoring lacrosse players was a waste of time.”

“No, you said that,” Scott reminds him, pushing a bottle of water in his direction. He forgets sometimes. “And you were talking about Greenberg. I would definitely tutor Kira if she needed it.”

“Well, yeah, I don’t – wait. You’re not? I mean, she doesn’t? Malia doesn’t even take Bio, she has Psych with me that hour. And what were they saying about pizza?”

Scott makes the smartest decision he can for the moment. “I’ll tell you after school.”

* * *

Malia only likes weird specialty pizzas, it turns out, with fruit or hot sauce in the ingredients. Kira likes pepperoni and sausage. They end up getting individuals and sharing a pan of cheesy breadsticks with garlic sauce that, suspiciously, none of them will touch.

“So, I asked my dad about the shots I get,” Malia’s saying, her mouth dripping a long strand of mozzarella before she twirls it around her finger and bites, wiping her hand on the napkin Kira has unfolded on her lap. “And he says if you’re mostly allergic to pollen, you can take these tablets instead. They’re like, way cheaper, and when it gets warmer, you should be able to come to Kira’s games like me!”

“If you want,” Kira rushes to say. “You don’t have to do all that if you don’t like lacrosse, or if you would rather not take medicine or…”

Scott smiles at her and shakes his hair out of his eyes so he can meet hers. “No, I’ve always wanted to be able to go. I watch it on TV when I can, but I’d rather see you play. I read a bunch of back issues of the school bulletin and you score, like. A lot.”

“She’s the best player they have. We’d be better off with an all girls team with her as captain.”

“Um, guys.” Kira squirms on the spot, and Scott understands the feeling. He’d felt the same when Kira was telling Malia about how well Scott could lead discussion in class without going over anyone’s head, or when he found out his mom had been talking him up to Malia while she was getting her biweekly allergy shot at the hospital. “Are we just going to ignore….?”

Scott glances back over his shoulder and sure enough, Stiles is there, shoving not one but two menus in front of his face like his big feet and purple jacket aren’t still in plain sight in the corner booth. “He’s just curious.”

“He’s nosy,” Malia counters. “We should introduce him to the rest of my family.” Kira looks stricken at the idea, slowly shaking her head, eyes far off as she considers the possibilities.

“He’ll get bored after a while. He can’t sit still for very long, even if he orders something. Plus, coming here was kind of our thing. Harley doesn’t eat pizza, so it was just us when we wanted some. We’ll go somewhere else next time.”

“How 'bout bowling?”

Scott takes a bite of his pizza, chews slowly, and swallows. “Uh, sure. I’m a great bowler.”


End file.
